


Everything to Lose

by KaylaShay



Category: White Collar
Genre: Alternate Universe - Slavery, Big Bang Challenge, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Non-Consensual, Rape, Threesome - F/M/M, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-21
Updated: 2013-09-20
Packaged: 2017-12-27 04:46:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 16,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/974499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaylaShay/pseuds/KaylaShay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As Peter and El start their new life together, the last thing they expect to get is a slave. But Neal works his way into their hearts and, ten years later, Peter is working on a way to show the two loves of his life just how much he cares. However, events set in motion years before threaten to tear their family apart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 01

**Author's Note:**

> **Rating** : FR21  
>  **Disclaimer** : I'm not USA / Jeff Eastin / etc., so I don't claim to own them.  
>  **Characters/Pairings** : Peter/El/Neal; Neal/OMCs; Vincent Adler; James Bennett; Other Minor Characters  
>  **Genre** : Threesome; AU  
>  **Warnings** : Slavery; Rape/Non-Con; Torture  
>  **Word Count** : 16,000  
>  **Beta** : azraelz_angel  
>  **Written For** : 2013 whitecollar-bb; hc_bingo prompt "[Loss of Possessions](http://kaylashay.livejournal.com/191252.html?thread=2914068#t2914068)" by sinfulslasher  
>  **Artwork By** : sirbojangles (pending as I was slow in finishing this fic)

Peter was unpacking a box labeled _books_ when the doorbell rang. Since they'd only arrived yesterday, he glanced at El with a questioning look.

"Maybe it's the neighbors with a welcome basket," she suggested.

Peter was still feeling overly protective of his new wife, so he went to answer the door before she could. Their new puppy Satchmo trailed happily behind him until El snatched him up so he wouldn't be tempted to run out the door. They were still working on the training aspects.

When he pulled the door open, Peter was greeted by a man in a delivery suit holding a clipboard with an impatient expression on his face.

"Is this the Burke residence? Peter and Elizabeth?"

"Yes," Peter said, eyeing the non-descript van parked on the street, looking for any clue as to what the man was peddling.

"I'll need you both to sign for receipt of delivery."

El had come up behind him with a squirming Satchmo firmly in hand. When he looked her way, she just shook her head. Neither of them were expecting any deliveries.

"Before I sign, can I ask what it is we're signing for?"

"My paperwork lists you as the new owners of the slave designated DC80-456. Here's the purchase paperwork that comes with it. And can you hurry? I've got four more deliveries to make today."

Peter took the folder with a shaking hand, ignoring the man's rush. He was speechless. Owning a slave was not something he'd discussed with El, but he never thought it would be an issue. His family had been firmly middle class and could never afford a slave even if they had wanted one. On the other hand, El's family had owned several slaves and she had always said she was glad to leave that life behind. He looked behind him for El and panicked when he didn't see her. Then he saw her coming from the kitchen sans Satch. She took the paperwork from his hand and started to flip through it.

"Damn," she cursed, making Peter jump. "I told them not to, but apparently they didn't listen."

"Who?" Peter asked, finally finding his voice.

"My parents. They went and purchased us a slave as our wedding present."

Peter's stomach dropped. The only interaction he'd experienced with slaves had been the ones working on the cleaning and cooking crews at his university and then at Quantico. His lack of slave knowledge had actually been the result of his lowest scores during his FBI training. He'd been required to take a few courses that covered the basics, but he was a far cry from wanting to be a slave owner himself.

Peter was grateful that El had taken over reviewing the paperwork. She would be able to make sense of it all while his head was still reeling.

"Can you give us a few moments?" El's question to the delivery guy startled Peter out of his rising panic. The guy looked like he wanted to argue, but one stern look from El kept him silent. Then El pulled Peter into the entrance of their house.

"We have to sign for the slave, Hon," El said point blank. Before he could start an argument, she continued. "My parents suck and they added a 'no sale' clause into the contract for at least one year from date of purchase. If we don't take the slave, then he'll be put in a holding facility for that full year until he can be placed for resell again."

Peter shuddered. During his probationary period with the FBI, he had been on more than one raid of slave holding facilities. All the ones he'd seen hadn't been fit for an animal let alone a human being. He'd filed some of the slave condition reports after the raids and the list of injuries from physical and sexual abuse had been extensive. Just the thought of some unknown slave sitting in the truck outside being in one of those places had bile rising in Peter's throat.

"Can't let that happen," he agreed. "But what will we do with a slave?"

"We'll figure it out… together."

Peter pulled El close and gave her a kiss. "Together," he said a moment later and then he took her hand and went back to finalize things with the delivery guy.


	2. 02

Neal forced himself not to try moving in the confines of his container. It was only his third time in a transport container, the first being at the age of sixteen when his first sale was finalized. He had only been on the sales floor for one day when the purchase had occurred. There was one kid that had been there almost to the one-month limit. Neal had heard stories that after one month, high-end trained slaves like himself were written off and sold in lots with the general slaves. Stories of what happened to lot slaves were used during his training as encouragement to be the best that training could buy.

Neal prided himself on being the best. He had soaked up every bit of training he could, from the cultural studies to sexual education to punishment and physical abuse. He kept his body at the peak of fitness, because an unattractive slave was useless in the circles he wanted to stay within.

The problem was that at twenty-two he was now past his prime. At sixteen, he was the perfect eye candy for the rich man who had bought him. He had secured the man more business deals in two years with his mouth and ass than the man had done himself in five. At eighteen, he had been sold again, this time to a woman Representative. Along with keeping her satisfied, he had been under the table during several closed-door government transactions that would cause rioting in the street if the details were ever revealed.

She had been pleased with him and kept him for both of her terms. However, public opinion had changed against her and she was on her way out of office. Instead of keeping an aging slave, she was trading him in for a newer model.

This time, his wait on the sales floor had been twenty-nine days. His price on the floor had been decreased the last week to a red ticket item. One more day and he would have been transferred to the lot sales he had worked so hard to stay away from.

It was late in the afternoon when an older couple stopped in front his display. They had checked all his attributes thoroughly and studied his history chart from the base of the display. While Neal wanted to be sold before he was transferred to a lot, he wasn't sure he was interested in a couple that looked too old to really appreciate all his skills. His previous owners had both been in their early thirties. He wasn't looking forward to servicing people in their sixties.

But after they left, his sale had been finalized and his fate was sealed. He would deal with it because it was what he had been trained to do, but deep down inside, he would hate it. But then, ever since he was three and ripped from his mother's arms, he had secretly hated everything about the life he was forced to lead.

His thoughts drifted back to the present as he felt the container being lifted by the dolly. While he was pretty secure in the casing, the shifts and bumps of the dolly always shifted the dildo in his ass. As it moved, striking his prostate, he bit back a groan at his erection returning to press against the cage that held it. His sexual training had been thorough, leading to the slightest of stimulation giving him an erection. But slaves being transported always had a locked cage on their cock. Only his new owner would be able to free him and allow his orgasm when they deemed that he had earned it.

Neal sighed in relief when the container stopped moving. This was the hard part for him. The first time he had been transported in the enclosed case, he had panicked. First, his arms were placed into binders that were crossed in front of his chest with a series of straps. It kept his arms and hands completely immobile. After that, he had been placed kneeling into a foam-padded box that had stopped neck high. Then he had to impale himself on the dildo that was positioned under his ass. Once he was seated, a hollow dildo with a thin hose attached was placed into his mouth through the o-ring that was already there.

At that point, he was instructed to breathe in and hold his breath with his chest out. A liquid substance was poured into the crate and quickly hardened into a foam substance like the stuff under his knees. He was able to breathe in and out, but the movement around his chest was all he could make. Then his packing was completed with a hood over his head and something being snapped around his neck. He could hear the top of the crate being fastened over him and was thankful for the plastic hose that would allow him to breath.

The panic had set in when he felt the liquid substance flowing around his head. He quickly took a breath, wanting to block the substance from filling his only means of staying alive. But the substance stopped at his chin and he realized the thing around his neck was keeping his throat and chest free. Otherwise, he was frozen in position and would stay like that until his new owner set him free.

Luckily, travel for all three of his trips had been short. He had been trained in a facility in Washington, DC as a kid, but his first owner had been in New York City. His second sale had sent him back to DC. Now, he wasn't sure where he was. The drive had been long, so he knew he was no longer in DC. He had been unable to tell where the older couple was from based on their accents.

When the top portion of the container was lifted off the foam, he began to hear muffled voices. There was a man and woman talking, but they sounded much different from the older couple that had been inspecting him.

The man seemed irritated judging by his raising voice and that concerned Neal. Since his first sale, Neal had received limited physical punishment. His first owner wasn't into hard-core games. He liked Neal's skin to look perfect and preferred fucking and sucking over whips and chains. The congresswoman had enjoyed a flogger and cane when votes didn’t go her way, but otherwise, things had been tame for his six years as an active slave.

With his new potential owner already sounding angry, Neal figured his streak of good luck was about to run out. When the layer of foam was lifted free of his head, Neal kept himself perfectly still. He didn't want to give his new owner a reason to start punishment before he was even out of his container.

"What the hell? El, how can they do this?!"

Neal tried not to flinch at the raised voice that was now sharp in his ears. The packaging had kept things muffled for too long and now everything was extra loud to his sensitive ears.

"It's a standard packaging job, Peter. Trust me, there are non-standard packaging setups that you don't want to know about."

Neal realized he didn't succeed in hiding his flinch when he felt a hand caress his head through the leather hood.

"Don't mind Peter, Sweetie. He’s angry at the situation, not you."

Neal figured the woman was talking to him, but he wasn't sure how to take receiving a term of endearment before she had even set eyes on him. The situation as a whole was making him nervous since the couple unpacking him was obviously not the older couple that he thought had purchased him. And nervous slaves made mistakes that he couldn't afford to make.

"Can we get that hood off him? How's he breathing through that little tube?"

"We have to follow the instructions so we don't hurt him. Give me the key from the kit so I can unlock the neck plate. Then you work on the side latches to get the crate off the foam."

Neal listened to them work, allowing his body to move with the occasional tug of the material. The man, Peter, seemed calmer now that the woman was giving him directions on how to handle his container. The congresswoman hadn't followed the directions properly and his throat had ended up with a deep cut by the neck plate when she was unpacking him. At least that didn't seem likely to happen this time around.

When he felt the foam being pulled away from his lower body, he unconsciously sucked a deep breath through the tube, letting his chest extend all the way out. Then he wanted to kick himself when he heard Peter's sharp curse.

"Damn it! He was barely able to breathe in that thing. The delivery guy said he came all the way from DC. That's at least four hours if traffic was light and then however long he was in this thing before they put him on the truck. It's inhumane!"

"Calm down," the woman, El, said as Neal felt his head being petted again. Neal wasn't sure if she was saying it to him or Peter, but he hoped it worked on the other man like it did on him. Neal was beginning to think he could get use to her hand petting him.

"I'm going to take the hood off now," El said, speaking to him. "You might want to keep your eyes closed. Peter, can you turn the lights off so it's not as bright?"

Neal was grateful that this woman seemed to take his wellbeing into consideration. As a slave, he wasn't to expect treatment that was for his own good. His life was meant to be for his owner's good, not his own.

As the hood was removed around his breathing tube, Neal kept his eyes shut as El had instructed. He wanted to see what his new owners looked like, but for now, following even suggested orders was the better course of action to avoid punishment. He heard more curses from Peter as the dildo was removed from his mouth. The o-ring came next and he kept his mouth open until El told him it was okay to work out any kinks he had.

He worked his jaw a few times, and cautiously wetted his lips, hoping they wouldn't mind. Then he felt a small hand on his chin tilting his head up.

"Can you open your eyes for me now, Sweetie?"

Neal carefully opened them and was met with a dark haired woman with blue eyes not dissimilar from his own.

"Hey there," she said with warm smile. "I'm Elizabeth, although Peter over there calls me El. My parents thought you would make the perfect wedding gift for us."

Neal heard Peter's snort and his heart plummeted. The picture was now forming in his head. The older couple had been her parents and were obviously from either upper middle class or lower upper class. Giving a slave as a gift for special occasions was tradition. But from the sounds of things, her husband Peter wasn't interested. If Elizabeth took a liking to him, especially sexually, Peter was likely to take his anger out on Neal.

He hadn't realized he was trembling until Elizabeth started petting his hair again.

"Calm down," she said softly. "We weren’t expecting you, but now that you're here, we'll do our best to take care of you."

Then he felt another hand tentatively squeeze his shoulder. Shifting his eyes, he saw Peter standing strong and tall above him. His jaw was clenched, but Neal could see compassion in his eyes that belied the angry tones he had been hearing.

"What's your name? The paperwork just called you DC80-456."

"Whatever my Master wishes it to be," he said demurely. The training facility had called him 456. His first owner had called him Danny Boy as he'd had a fondness for the song. The Congresswoman called him Nick when they were having sex and boy any other time. He'd never learned who Nick really was. He could only hope his new owners picked a good name for him. Some slaves ended up with names like 'bitch' and 'fucker' and Neal had no desire to answer to anything like that.

Neal felt the hand on his chin tighten slightly before his Master spoke.

"We want to call you by your real name, not some name you've never heard before," Peter said with a sigh.

Before Neal could answer, Elizabeth cut in, her hand still his hair. "It's okay if you don't know what your real name is, Sweetie. I know some slaves don't remember. If you don't, we'll help you come up with a name you like together."

Peter's eyes had widened at Elizabeth's words. Neal was starting to think that Peter didn't have much in the way of practical experience with slaves. Refocusing on the question at hand, Neal tried to think fast. He'd only been three when he'd been delivered to the facility, but he could still remember his name, Neal. He could remember his mom telling him to be brave and that everything would be okay. She'd said she would see him soon, but she'd never come back.

Throughout his years of training, he'd held onto his name as his only secret. Slaves weren't supposed to have secrets, but his name was his. Now he had the chance to tell his secret. But if he gave his real name, then he'd lose that haven in his mind that he went to when he was doing things he didn't like. He could be Neal and nothing would take that away unless he let it happen. But being a slave for almost twenty years had worn him thin and he was tired of hiding who he really was. Just once, he wanted to be Neal again. Realizing that his owners were still awaiting his answer, Neal spoke up.

"Neal, Master," he answered softly. "My name is Neal."


	3. 03

Peter wasn't sure what had caused it, but Neal had been on edge all week. It was like he had reverted back to those first few months when they'd all been testing the waters with how to handle everything. Back then, Neal had played the part of the model slave, with El being the perfect Mistress. Peter had been lost, trying to treat Neal as a houseguest and having it backfire on him.

In the end, they'd had what El dubbed a 'family meeting' and developed a list of house rules. It had taken some prodding, but Neal had contributed as well, letting them both know what situations left him feeling uneasy or unsure of himself. The best rule had been the one for Neal to let him and El know if there was something he wanted versus what he needed to stay healthy.

Neal had finally confessed to enjoying artwork. He had been trained as a high-end slave and part of his training had been in artistic endeavors as a 'wow' factor to add to his sale price. El had immediately taken Neal to a craft store and picked out some items to get him started. After that, Neal was rarely seen without his sketchbook and pencil in place.

The true changing point had been six months in while El and Neal were browsing items at a thrift store. Neal had met a lady named June who was handing over some of her late husband's clothes. It had been love at first sight as Neal had looked at the hand tailored clothes with the reverence he felt they deserved. June had ended up inviting El and Neal over for tea and the rest was history.

Outside of a strange man that went by the name of Mozzie, June was lonely in her house and had offered the use of a spare room as an art studio for Neal. In return, all she asked was that he be able to keep her company while he worked. Neal didn't need to ask, the look in his eye when they had viewed the room had been enough. The arrangement had worked out well in the end. Neal had something to do during the day while him and El were at work and June had someone to keep her company.

Neal's work had also flourished in the new space. He was doing paintings and even sculptures. June had been talking to him about finding gallery space that they would be able to display and even sell some of Neal's work. Everything was going so smoothly, that seeing Neal's current behavior was worrisome.

Peter had decided it was best to hold another family meeting and figure out what was going wrong. He knew it would take work to get to the bottom of Neal's issues, but they would figure it out and move on. When they were all seated in the living room, Peter started the conversation.

"How're things going with the gallery set up, Neal?" he asked casually.

"Good, Master," Neal said. "Mozzie has been great getting it all organized."

Mozzie was the only person that Neal would call by his preferred name. They'd tried to get Neal to drop the Master and Mistress titles, but so far he hadn't. El figured it was because Mozzie was a former slave himself and Neal felt a kinship with him through shared experiences.

"Let us know when he gets the date for the opening set. I want to make sure I'm scheduled off for the day, no matter what the bad guys are doing."

Neal just nodded. It was unlike him to be so quiet. Up until a week ago, the gallery had been all he could talk about.

"Have you been feeling okay?" El asked, cutting to the chase. She tugged on Neal's arm from the place on the floor he usually preferred until he was sitting stiffly on the couch between them. "You can tell us if anything is wrong, Sweetie. Someone didn't hurt you did they?"

Peter's heart clenched. As a slave, he knew that Neal wasn't legally allowed to fight against a free person. It's why he was leery of Neal being anywhere without him or El present. He'd come to trust Mozzie and June, but even they couldn't watch Neal all the time.

"No Mistress El," Neal said quickly.

Neal didn't speak for another few minutes, but Peter and El waited him out. They had learned over the course of the year that if they gave him time, he would usually speak his mind.

"When will you be selling me, Master?" Neal finally asked and Peter felt his mouth drop.

"Selling you?" Peter asked as he propelled himself from the couch to pace. "What made you think we're selling you?"

Peter winced when he noticed that Neal had slid back to floor in the wake of his pacing. He went back to the couch and sat on the floor beside Neal, pulling him close. El joined them and soon even Satchmo had his nose in Neal's lap.

"Neal, we don't plan to sell you," El said as she leaned her head on Neal's shoulder. "What made you think we would?"

"I overheard you talking in the bedroom," Neal admitted softly. "I was trying to sneak in one night after I thought you were asleep. But you were talking and I stayed at the doorway instead of leaving. I shouldn't have listened, Mistress."

"It's okay. We've told you that you're welcome in the bedroom whenever you want to be there."

"What did you hear us say?" Peter questioned. He knew for fact that they had never talked about selling Neal.

"You were talking about the year clause on my contract being up next week," Neal said. "Then you talked about scheduling a meeting at the processing facility. I went back to my room after that, Master. What I should have done in the first place."

Peter let Neal's self doubt about his place in their bedroom slide for a moment while he focused on the more pressing issue.

"It will be a year next week," he said and felt Neal stiffen in his arms. "But we're not planning to sell you. Just the opposite in fact."

Peter looked at El, wondering if he should continue. She just gave a light shrug and Peter figured it couldn't get any worse than Neal thinking they were going to sell him.

"The clause that El's parents had added to the contract prevented us from selling you unless we had you placed in a holding facility. But it also prevented us from freeing you for that same year."

Peter left the implication of his words hanging in the air. Back during the first week that Neal had been with them, he had researched the contract extensively. Ultimately, he had wanted to free Neal, but El's parents had been thorough. Now they had the chance and Peter figured that Neal would be excited. He was wrong.

Peter saw the moment that Neal worked it out and his face showed sheer panic instead of the hope of freedom that Peter had anticipated.

"You can't free me, Master," Neal said in a rush. "Mistress, please don't free me."

"But," Peter grasped for understanding, "the way you are with Mozzie, I thought you'd want to be free like him."

"Freedom works for Mozzie. He wasn't a good slave, but I am," he said with conviction.

"You are a good slave," El said. "But we think you'd make a good free person, too."

"I can't," Neal said, his body shaking. "You can't leave me like-" Neal cut himself off.

"Like what?" Peter questioned.

"You can't leave me like my parents did," Neal whispered. "If I'm your slave, you have to keep me."

Peter looked at El over Neal's head as the younger man buried his face in Peter's chest. They held each other's eyes and knew that they were in agreement.

"We'll keep you, Neal," El said softly. "As long as you want to be kept, we'll keep you."

Peter pressed a kiss to Neal's head. Only time would tell if Neal would ever want to be free.

* * *

"Damn it!" Adler shouted as he tossed a crystal paperweight across the room. It shattered into pieces, but didn't leave him feeling any better.

"Twenty-five million! The bastard made off with twenty-five million dollars. I want to know how and I want to know who he is. Everything. He tried to ruin me and I'll ruin him in ways he can't imagine."

"He said he was Sam Phelps," Kate spoke up tentatively. "He was with the group of investors you sent me to entertain two weeks ago, Master."

Adler focused on the young slave girl, trying to decide if she had provided this mysterious Sam any information that had allowed him to pull the con. He walked over to where she was kneeling on the floor and gripped her hair, pulling her head back to look up at him.

"You'll tell me every interaction you had and anything overheard about him. If not, I'll enjoy whipping your back until you're too scarred for any buyer to even consider."

He saw tears start to well up in her eyes and smiled. She would give him the start and then he would do everything to bring this Sam Phelps to the ground. He'd ruin anything that belonged to the man to get his revenge. 

Before Kate started talking, Adler hit the buzzer for his assistant.

"Get me a boy for the penthouse tonight," he demanded. "Dark hair and blue eyes. And make sure he's in pristine condition because I want to ruin something."

He ended the conversation and turned back to Kate who was staring at him with terror in her eyes.


	4. 04

Peter sighed as he stared at the calendar in front of him. Tomorrow was his anniversary with El and five days after that was their anniversary with Neal. Ten years was a long time and thinking back to the previous night as Neal fucked El and Peter fucked Neal, things couldn't be better. He just didn't know what to get the two people he loved the most. He sucked when it came to gift giving.

Typically, he had Neal or El's respective help in getting something for one or the other. But this time, it called for getting something for both of them without either knowing.

"June and Mozzie!" he suddenly said out loud. Either one of them would have a decent idea. Mozzie's might be less conventional, but something was bound to come up if he talked it out with both of them.

Ever since that faithful meeting at the thrift store, June and Mozzie had been close friends. The best part had been their friendship with Neal. Peter had worried often during that first year that Neal would wither away because his slave status would keep him from being social outside their home. When June offered her loft as a studio space in exchange for a listening ear, things couldn't have worked out better.

Now, Neal had a semi-successful gallery. Apparently, the upper class of Manhattan thought it was the latest fad to own a piece of slave art. Neal even did pieces on commission when they wanted paintings of their favored pets in all manner of positions.

Along with the success of Neal's gallery, El's event planning business had skyrocketed. And Peter himself had received promotion to the head field agent of the white collar division when Hughes' wife had demanded he retire from field work. Things were perfect.

"Boss?" Diana's voice brought him out of his mental wonderings.

"Yeah, Diana," he asked back.

"There's an OPR agent downstairs. Says he's putting our active investigations on hold due to an investigation."

Peter became alert. There had been nothing recently that would warrant an OPR investigation. He followed Diana out of the office, bristling when he saw several agents collecting boxes of records.

"What the hell is this?" he barked at the closest one.

"A subpoena to gather all records from the white collar division for review," the agent said, handing Peter the piece of paper.

"On whose order?"

"Agent Fowler is the head of the investigation."

"And where is he?" Peter's patience was growing thin.

"I'm not at liberty to say, Agent Burke."

Before Peter could continue his questioning, his cell rang. He put it to his ear without checking to see who it was.

"This is Burke," he snapped out.

"Peter!" El's panicked voice startled him. "They're tearing up everything!"

"Who?" Peter was already heading for the elevator.

"Some FBI agent named Fowler. They're-" El cut off and Peter stared at his phone. He barely noticed that Jones had followed him, until the other man took the keys and asked where. Peter directed him to El's business.

When they arrived, there were agents all over, boxing things and leaving other items strewn on the floor. El was arguing with a man that seemed to be in charge.

"Ah, Agent Burke," the agent greeted him with a smile on his face that Peter wanted to wipe off. "You shouldn't be here. It could be considered as interfering with a federal investigation."

"If you're Fowler, I want to know why the hell you're wrecking my office, my wife's business and harassing us."

"I'm not at liberty to discuss an ongoing investigation," Fowler said. When El started to move to where the agents were mishandling the bottles of wine, Fowler stepped in front of her. "That would be interfering for you as well, Mrs. Burke."

El ignored him and brushed passed him, bumping Fowler's arm in the process. Fowler grabbed her arm and smiled.

"That was assaulting a federal agent and I will be placing you under arrest."

Peter saw red. "Like hell you will. _This_ is assaulting a federal agent," and he let his fist fly into Fowler's nose.

Fowler rocked back from the blow and Peter was satisfied to see blood on the man's face.

"That, Agent Burke, will get you both arrested. Agent Jones, take his gun and badge."

At Fowler's instructions, Jones backed up. "You've got enough of your own agents to handle that," he said with a scowl. Peter could see a balled fist that might lead to Jones being cuffed right alongside them.

"It's okay, Jones," Peter said softly, handing his gun and badge to the man. "You and Diana figure this out," he said softly so no one else could hear.

Jones nodded and then he stayed as a witness to Peter and El being placed in cuffs and led from the building.

It was hours later that Peter and El were collecting their personal belongings as Diana waited on them.

"Do you know anything?" Peter asked. "It seemed personal and we've never met Fowler before."

"I don't know, Boss. They're stonewalling us everywhere we try to look."

El was checking her purse when the clerk handed her a piece of paper.

"What's this?" she asked.

"A receipt for your slave," the clerk said in a bored tone.

"Neal?" El gasped out and Peter grabbed the paper from her.

"What the-" Peter stopped, frozen at the words in front of him.

"It's the receipt for the collection of your property due to your arrests and pending charges. Standard procedure," the clerk's voice washed over Peter.

"Fowler took him," he said with a broken voice looking at the signature on the receipt. "He signed off on Neal's _collection_."

He pulled El into his arms and tried to stop himself from shaking. Fowler had wanted Neal and Peter had let himself walk right into a trap.

"We'll get him back, Boss," Diana said with a conviction that Peter wasn't feeling. "We'll find him and nail Fowler's ass to the wall."

They left the precinct they'd been held at quickly, Diana driving them toward June's house. Peter had to see for himself if the receipt was true. All the calls they had attempted to Neal's cell and June's house went unanswered. Each passing minute left another stab of fear in Peter's heart.

He took the stairs to the loft two at a time and stopped short at the door that was standing open. Neal never left the door open. When he stepped inside, his heart sank. He heard El's gasp behind him.

The room had been ransacked. Paintings were tossed around and a half finished sculpture of Satchmo lay broken on the floor. Then Peter heard a moan and he reached for his gun that he didn't have.

"Suit?" Mozzie's strained voice concerned him.

"Moz?" El was already kneeling beside where the man was laying on the floor. His head had a gash on it with blood around the edges. "What happened?"

"They took Neal," he said shortly. "Agents from your precious FBI took him," Mozzie said, pointing an accusing finger at Peter. "I told Neal that being with a fed wasn't ideal for a slave. Of course, being a slave to anyone in the establishment is a death sentence. But you had Neal brainwashed and he ignored my invitations to a select group of freed slaves."

"We offered to free him," El said quietly. "He turned us down and we respected his choice. Now," she said with a wave at the destroyed room, "I wish we had forced the issue."

"Some guy named Fowler made a play for Neal by taking us out of the equation," Peter elaborated for Mozzie. "We just spent the afternoon in jail and it allowed him to legitimately confiscate Neal. We need to find out why," Peter said, slamming is hand down on the counter.

"Fowler's just the pawn," Diana said. "As much as I hate to fuel the little guy's beliefs in a corrupt government, this has money and coercion written all over it. Got tangled up enough in it when I was a kid with my parents in the State Department."

"But who would do all this just to get Neal?" El asked the question they were all wondering out loud.

"We'll figure it out," Peter said with a confidence he didn't feel.

"I'll get Jones and we'll work the FBI angle, Boss. Without your badge, you'd be better working with Mozzie behind the scenes. We'll feed you what we can. I’ll talk to Hughes where I'm sure we're not bugged and lay things out for him. At this point, we've got to considered everything compromised from our cells to our homes."

"I like the way you think, Lady Suit," Mozzie said. "Suit," he added, turning toward Peter. "Find me a package of sterile gauze, a laptop that has not been compromised by your brethren and a twenty dollar bill."

"And this will help us find Neal?" Peter asked in disbelief.

"Don't question the master of tracking and hacking the slave system. Just do as I say."

"I'll take care of the gauze," El said, giving Peter a little push.

"I'll let you know what I find out back at the office," Diana said as she headed for the door.

Peter nodded. He had the best team both inside and outside of the office. Now they just had to work together to find their missing member. He couldn't let Neal down. The man meant too much to both him and El for it to end this way.


	5. 05

When Neal swam to consciousness, he was confused. He remembered being at June's in the studio, but he couldn't remember what had happened. His head was throbbing with what reminded him of the sedative drugs he'd been given years ago, before he belonged to Peter and Elizabeth. When he tried to move, he panicked because his arms were strapped to his bare chest. The panic brought everything crashing back to him and he snapped his eyes open, looking around wildly.

"Ah, you're finally awake, boy," a voice came from his left and he twisted to see who was talking. "It's a pity that we don't get to keep you at the facility longer. You're a pretty one despite your age. But your new owner already had things arranged and I've been given a significant bonus to ensure everything is handled properly in your transfer."

Neal tried to talk, but the man curtailed any sound he could make by pressing a button on a controller in his hand. A second later, Neal felt electrical current pass through his body, centered on his throat. He screamed, unable to hold back his pain.

"How do you like your new collar? It's the latest edition for challenging slaves. Mainly used on the manual laborers, but certain clientele with sex slaves have a use for it too. Your new owner wanted it installed as soon as you were delivered to us."

Neal wanted to ask what was happened. He wanted to know where Peter and Elizabeth were. He wanted to know why a man with an FBI badge had been the one to take him away from everything he had known. But the lingering feeling of the electricity kept his mouth shut.

"Let's get started, shall we," the man said as he moved toward Neal's naked body. Neal flinched when the hands touched his skin. "Shy," the man commented with a chuckle. "You've been spoiled for too long, boy. Slaves aren't supposed to flinch, especially sex slaves like you."

Neal fought his urge to struggle as the man pulled him sideways and then delivered a slap to his ass. He took pride that he didn't let out a sound at the unwanted smack.

"You deserve more than that, but I'm supposed to deliver you mark free. At least the FBI agent promised to clear me of any wrongdoing for the bruise you're getting on your arm. He said you didn't want to go peacefully. I say it's a good thing those former owners of yours were arrested. Too bad they can't be charged with improper handling and training of their slave."

Neal's heart stopped. He ignored the way the man was maneuvering him into a packing crate. Instead, he focused the words the man had just said. Peter and Elizabeth had been arrested. They were the most law-abiding people that Neal had ever met. They didn't even hurt slaves, which was practically unheard of. But their arrest would explain why he was at a slave facility. All slaves were subject to confiscation and resell if their owners were incarcerated.

If the man was to be believed, legally he was no longer Peter and Elizabeth's. Their joint arrests would have terminated their ownership of him. He was part of the system again and apparently already sold without ever being put on the floor showroom. It was a nightmare and he had no way to fight it.

Neal focused back on the shipping crate when the man instructed him to take the deep breath for the additional packing foam. Apparently, ten years hadn't changed the shipping process at all. The dildo was firmly in his ass and there was a breathing tube in his mouth. Neal could feel tears gathering in his eyes and he fought to not let them fall underneath the hood that was pressing against his face from the final foam being poured around him.

He'd had ten perfect years and now it was over. His new owner had already revealed his preferences with the shock collar and Neal was afraid that his life would end in pain and misery and that he would never see Peter and Elizabeth again.

Neal lost track of time as the shipping crate was transported to his new owner. He tried to focus on breathing and not panicking at every bump that the vehicle hit in the road. What didn't help his peace of mind was his body's natural reaction to the stimulation from the dildo. He wanted to believe that after years of only being with Peter and Elizabeth that he had lost the training that had been forced on him at an early age. But time hadn't allowed his body to forget.

The cock cage was pressing firmly against the erection that he was trying to sport without his consent. That fact alone had him longing for a way out. It felt as if he was betraying Peter and Elizabeth by reacting to something other than them. However, he would have to learn to live with it since he was going to a new owner.

Sometime later, he felt the tilt of being loaded onto a dolly. Then he could feel a sinking feeling from what had to be a fast moving elevator. When all motions stopped, he waited, unsure of what to expect once his crate was opened. When he had arrived at Peter and Elizabeth's house, he'd been let out of the crate almost immediately, but this time, it was like he'd been delivered and forgotten.

Being locked inside the crate left Neal unable to tell the real passing of time, but he could judge by his body's needs. First was the parched throat. He remembered having a drink of water at June's, but that had been hours before the FBI agent had arrived. The facility had not given him anything beyond the liquid they shot up his ass to flush him out.

Next came the pressing need of his bladder. The last time he had wet himself had been during training. There had been a session where he'd been locked inside a cage until he had urinated; leaving him crouched in his own piss. His trainer had said he needed to be prepared for anything. It was beginning to look as if that anything had finally arrived.

Just as he was about to lose control of his bladder, Neal heard the latches being released on his crate. The moment he had been dreading was upon him and he tried not to panic. Part of him hoped that it was one long nightmare and that he would wake up with Peter and Elizabeth wrapped around him and Satchmo scratching at the door. But it wasn't to be.

Neal felt the foam being removed and the sides were lowered, freeing the encasement around his body. However, the hood was not removed and he jerked when he felt a hand trail up his back and linger over the tattoo that marked him as property. Then his head whipped to the side as a hand struck his face.

"Lesson one, boy," a man's sophisticated voice broke through the ringing in his ears. "You're mine and I'll do whatever I like with you."

Neal's hood was then ripped off of his head and the sudden burst of light left him disoriented. Soon, lean fingers were grasping his chin and tilting his head upward. He focused on the dark haired man above him. He was roughly Peter's age and though he looked handsome enough, his eyes had a glint in them that left Neal reeling at the reality of belonging to this man.

"I'll admit that I wasn't planning to keep you after you serve your purpose given your age, but seeing you outside of the photos I received, I may change my mind."

Neal had no idea what the man was talking about. But his new Master's intentions were terrifyingly clear.

"Kate! Take my new toy and get it cleaned up, inside and out. I want to have a little fun with it before we throw the party for Mr. Phelps at the end of the week."

Neal received another slap to his face, lighter this time, and then the man was gone. He was replaced by a dark haired slave girl, wearing nothing but heels, who prompted him to stand from the dildo still in his ass.

"Don't attempt anything, toy," she said softly as Neal darted his eyes around the empty room. "The Master is watching and he has the control for your collar."

Neal shuddered, remembering the course of electricity that had shot through his body. He did not want to repeat that if he could help it.

"I'm Neal," he said softly, planting a fake smile on his face. It wouldn't hurt to have someone on his side in the mess that had become his life.

"You're the Master's new toy, nothing more, nothing less. And toys do not talk without permission."

Neal bit back a sigh. He kept quiet as she attached a chain to his collar and led him from the room, her high heels clicking on the tiled floor. She took him into a small room that served as a slave washroom. Neal had learned of the rooms in his training, but his owners before Peter and Elizabeth hadn't required him to use one.

Neal allowed Kate to direct him from station to station in the room as she did the work her Master had ordered. First was the enema, a process that Neal had never enjoyed. Then he was shaved. Neal had never received full body hair removal treatment and while he liked to stay trimmed, his new Master wanted him smooth. Kate wielded a straight edged razor expertly over his genitals, but Neal still cringed at the thought of one slip of the blade.

Following a twenty-minute soak, Kate applied oil over his body, telling him that their Master liked to see a healthy shine. Once he was deemed presentable, Kate reattached the leash and led him to a new room. Judging by the implements hanging on the wall and the restraint horses and crosses around the room, Neal was going to hate his new home.

Instead of taking him to the cross like Neal had suspected, Kate had him stand in the center of the room. Then she pressed a button on the wall that lowered a set of cuffs from the ceiling. Neal didn't fight her as she placed his wrists in the restraints. When the button was pressed again, his arms were stretched above his head and pulled out to the side. Kate stopped the chains just short of pulling his feet from the floor. Then she cuffed a spreader bar to his ankles and left him spread-eagled in the room, awaiting his fate.

He didn't have to wait long. His Master strode into the room and began circling Neal. Occasionally, he would reach out to run his hand over Neal's body or pinch his nipples. Neal did his best not to flinch and to remember his training from long ago. It was a constant struggle, but the man didn't slap him again, for which Neal was grateful.

"I didn't expect much when I learned how old you were. Most slaves your age are ready to be put down instead of serving a man like me."

Neal's heart fluttered at the mention of death. His time with Peter and Elizabeth had softened him from the harsh realities of his slave status.

"But given how much work it took to secure you, putting you down after the show this weekend would have been a waste. Any other owner and I just would have tossed a handful of cash their way and I would have had you years ago like I originally planned. But for some reason those working class owners of yours turned down my offer. That left me little choice but to take an alternative route and ruin them in the process."

Neal couldn't believe what he was hearing. This man had arranged for something to happen to Peter and Elizabeth in order to gain ownership of him. Neal didn't even know that Peter and Elizabeth had received offers to buy him. The way the man was talking, Neal was suddenly more worried for Peter and Elizabeth than he was for himself.

"I did find it sweet that they called you by your real name instead of your proper designation DC80-456. And since they know your real name, you must have been the one to tell them. I don't see Peter Burke as the kind of agent that would have dug around in the slave database to dig up your history."

Neal wasn't sure what his history had to do with this man. Neal had been a slave since he was three years old and the man in front of him would have only been a teenager at the time.

"I love the confusion on your face, Neal George Bennett," the use of his full name, which he had forgotten over time caused him to gasp. Then he reeled from the hard slap that followed. His face was going to be bruised spectacularly.

"Being a slave as long as you've been means you should have better manners when around your superiors. But we'll have time to work on your behavior adjustments. Tonight, I want to tell you a little story about a man named Sam Phelps and how he didn't have the manners to know not to steal from me nine years ago. Then, you'll help me get revenge, because what man doesn't suffer when he sees his only son being tortured and fucked. You see, I did some research on Sam Phelps and it turns out he was a former cop named James Bennett. The man who killed a cop and then ran out on his wife and son, sentencing his son to a life in slavery when the Marshals told his wife they didn't allow kids under twelve in witness protection."

"No, no, no…" Neal had started chanting as the man laid the history he didn't remember out bare before him. Then he screamed as the electricity jolted his body from the collar.

"I'll have to pace myself over the next few days. I don't want you too tired for the big show on Saturday. You don't want to disappoint your dad after all."

Neal continued to scream; both from the pain and the realization that he was trapped in a nightmare he couldn't escape. He couldn't even count on Peter and Elizabeth to save him.


	6. 06

"What do we know?" Peter asked with determination as he joined the others around the dining room table. El reached over and clasped his hand in her own and he gave a firm squeeze. Neal had been gone for three days and fear that they would never see him again had taken a firm grip on their thoughts.

"Allow me to introduce you to Mr. Jason Donovan," Mozzie began, tossing several photos on the table. "Mr. Donovan is an underpaid and overworked employee with the 8th Street Slave Facility. During his down time, he likes to gamble. And not very well I might add."

Peter forced himself not to tell Mozzie to speed it up. The man was grieving for his friend just as much as they were.

"Mr. Donovan was the only processing agent on duty at the time of Neal's kidnapping under the guise of federal justice. From what my sources have told me, Mr. Donovan paid off a $200,000 debt to the Chechen mob. In addition, a contact which will remain anonymous in the presence of the Suits, was able to retrieve Neal's database record."

Mozzie passed around several copies of the information. Peter zoned in on the info of Neal's ownership history. The two before him and El were there. Neal had told them about his time with them over the years. While Peter didn't like the idea of Neal's past ownership, he was grateful that Neal had it relatively good when compared to most slaves. Then Peter's eyes stopped at a name appearing after his and El's.

"Vincent Adler?" he said out loud as his blood began to boil. "How could they already have Neal placed with a new owner? The mandatory waiting period is thirty days."

"We might have the answer to that, Boss," Diana cut in. Jones tossed out another file on Agent Fowler. "Hughes called in a favor with the CIA. Turns out that Fowler had a wife. Two years ago, she was murdered in a hit ordered by a group that Fowler had been undercover with trying to bring them down. Someone high on the food chain with deep pockets covered it up when Fowler killed her murderer. The same person also arranged for his transfer to OPR. Records indicate that he immediately began investigating you, Elizabeth and Neal as soon as he joined OPR."

"You think Adler is pulling the strings?" Peter concluded. "He got an FBI agent in his pocket by keeping him out of prison for murder. He knew which slave facility agent to target. He knew how to target us through Fowler. The question is, why?"

"Five years ago," El's shaky voice startled Peter, "we received a purchase request on Neal."

Peter gripped her hand tighter. "We've received lots of those over the years, Hon. We turn them down."

"I know, but this one was for several million dollars."

Everyone turned to El in shock. "I know we would never sell him, but we list his value on our tax returns every year. And even when we first got him, his value was only $500,000. Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because you were away on a case that week and the answer still would have been no. I just mailed back that form letter we created and forgot about it. But the company that sent the request was Adler Enterprises which according to this is owned and operated by Vincent Adler, the man that now owns Neal."

"Son of a bitch!" Peter shouted. "How do we get him back?"

"We've got things in motion, Boss," Diana said. "Hughes already had Fowler taken quietly into custody. He doesn't want to rock the boat until we know more. We didn't have the info on Neal yet, so thanks to the little guy, we'll have Donovan brought in. He should break pretty easy once we tell him that the Chechens won't like to hear that the payback money came from an illegal slave transfer. The Chechens are all known abolitionists."

"Hughes is also trying to fast-track things to get your badge back," Jones added. "But he's being cautious because we don't know who's on the take. The strings behind Fowler are high up and he doesn't want to tip anyone off yet that we are on to things."

"Once we have Donovan's confession and the CIA is done with Fowler, we should be able to secure a warrant for Adler now that we know about him and then be able to get Neal back. Hopefully no later than this weekend," Diana said with confidence.

"It'll be a week by then," Peter said with sadness. "A week that we weren't there for him. What I don't get is why Adler was so desperate to get Neal. He offered millions and when he was turned down, he started this elaborate scheme to get him from us. There has to be a reason."

"I'll check it out, Suit," Mozzie said. "I have some people in Detroit that owe me and they can find out everything."

"Just sit tight, Boss, and it will all be over soon."

Peter just hoped that Neal would be okay when they got him back. A week was a long time and anything could happen. If one piece of the case was out of place, they could wind up losing everything.


	7. 07

Neal was helpless against the cock pressing into his mouth. He was also helpless against the one pounding his ass. He hated being helpless and after ten years with Peter and Elizabeth his mind allowed him to know he was being raped.

As a slave, he was taught from an early age that sex would be his purpose in life. He was supposed to be pleasing and do whatever his owner desired. With his first owners, it was easy. He had already been trained well and he had developed a love for sex in various forms. Although, it had been pleasing to learn that his owners’ tastes weren't too far from his own needs. The only thing missing with them and the friends they loaned him to had been love.

Then he'd found love with Peter and Elizabeth. They hadn't even taken him to their bed at first. About four months into his time at their house, he awoke in the middle of the night to a nightmare that he couldn't quite remember. Panic had sent him unthinkingly into their bedroom. He had enough sense not to wake them, but he was too scared from the remnants of the nightmare to return to his dark and lonely bedroom. He'd curled on the floor next to Peter's side of the bed and drifted back to sleep.

It was Peter's foot that found him an hour later when the man had gotten up to take a leak. Neal had assumed a proper kneeling position for a slave expecting punishment while Peter had demanded to know what Neal was doing on the floor. Elizabeth had been the voice of reason calming Peter down and coaxing Neal into telling them what was wrong.

That night, Neal had been pulled into the bed between them, both holding him tight. When he finally woke with a hard on pressing against Peter's ass, he'd been mortified. Especially when Elizabeth's hand trailed down his side and asked him how long it had been. He hastily admitted that he hadn't masturbated without their permission, not wanting her to think he'd been doing anything more than keeping himself ready for them.

Elizabeth had apologized and blamed herself because she knew that Peter wouldn't even realize something like that. She'd given him blanket permission to take care of himself and then told him that when he was ready, they could talk about more.

Neal hadn't really understood what she meant at the time, but a month later he found himself wishing that he could have what they had together. Most of all, he loved it when either of them held him on the couch or gave him light kisses as they were going and coming.

Once he met and befriended Mozzie, he'd received his answer. Mozzie had told him that the Suit, as he liked to call Peter, was lusting after him just as much as Elizabeth was. Neal had told him that they couldn't be because all they had to do was use him since he was theirs. It was then that Mozzie had enlightened him on how the world worked outside of slavery. How free people had to give and receive permission in a mutual show of affection before achieving coital bliss.

When Neal had said that the rules of a free person didn't apply to him, Mozzie had just laughed. According to Mozzie, Peter and Elizabeth were a step away from being abolitionists, which meant that Neal would always have a choice with them. It had taken Neal another few weeks to work up the courage to approach his owners about the idea.

Peter had been hesitant at first, talking about power imbalances and how Neal wasn't an object. As always, Elizabeth had stepped up and dragged them both to the bedroom and said they'd figure it out as they went. It had worked and ten years later, Neal knew the difference between right and wrong when it came to sex.

He gagged as the invading cock hit the back of his throat and stayed for a few moments. He wanted to fling his hands out to protect himself, but they were cuffed to the legs of the horse he was currently strapped to. He also couldn't kick back at the man behind him because his legs were strapped down as well, while the ring in his mouth kept him from biting down on the offending dick.

He could hear his new Master's voice in the background as he reminded his goons not to rough him up before the big show. Apparently, it was the night that James Bennett was going to be brought to justice for what he had done to the man. And justice meant that Neal was going to be tortured.

His new Master, Mr. Adler as his goons called him, had delighted in telling Neal all the details of the night he had planned for the last few years. He'd done so while he either fucked or shocked Neal. He'd told Neal he was going easy because he wanted Neal to look fresh for the big night. It was hard to believe the man when his whole body ached, but by the time Saturday had arrived, he looked relatively unscathed save for a scattering bruises across his body.

"Your men didn't have to be so forceful Mr. Adler," a man said with a smooth tone.

Neal was startled at the sound of a new voice in the room, but in his current position, there was nothing he could do to protect the last threads of his dignity.

"When I've been lied to and stolen from, Mr. Phelps, you'll find that I take every precaution needed to ensure justice is served. Have a seat."

Adler's men shoved Phelps into a chair and stood by in case he tried to leave. Then Adler walked over and grabbed Neal's hair tightly in his fist.

"Why don't you finish up, boys," he ordered the men fucking Neal. "Then I can get started on the floor show that I'm sure Mr. Phelps is going to enjoy."

Neal's hair was released and the men started to pound harder into his body. He could barely focus on the conversation occurring in the room.

"Didn't think you liked boys," Phelps said. "You had that perky little brunette."

"Kate," Adler provided and Neal could hear the clicking of the heels she always wore as she made her way toward Phelps. "She's still here and apparently you didn't do enough research when you stole from me. I may like Kate here, but I've always enjoyed my boys in a more private setting. Kate, darling, why don't you provide Mr. Phelps with a little entertainment while he waits."

Neal couldn't see what was happening as he was trying not to choke on the come filling his mouth and throat. But thankfully, the cocks were pulled from his body and he had a moment to catch his breath. The moment was short lived however as the men unstrapped him and manhandled him to a different position.

Neal found himself stretched from chains hanging from the ceiling. There was a bar between his wrists, holding them as wide as possible. Another bar between his ankles left him spread-eagle. His position in the room left him face to face with Phelps who was sitting with his eyes closed as Kate gave him a blowjob.

"That's enough, Kate," Adler's voice put a stop to Kate's work and soon Phelps was looking straight at Neal. Seeing eyes as blue as his own caused Neal's heart to plummet as he realized that Adler had told him the truth about the man in front of him being his father. Sam Phelps was James Bennett, his father. Neal felt tears stinging his eyes.

"Now Mr. Phelps, I want to tell you a little story. Since a child, I've been fascinated by research. If I didn't know about something, I dug until I figured it out for myself. So after you took my money, I wanted to figure you out. Most would think it was because I wanted my money back. The truth is, I could care less about the money. It was the man that took it that fascinated me. Do you know what I found when I started digging?"

Neal watched as Phelps tried to keep his face expressionless, but the man failed. Most would find it hard to see hidden worry on the man, but Neal could see it in his eyes that so mirrored his own.

"Sam Phelps existed, but you are a far cry from the retired cop living in Florida the records talk about," at the flicker on Phelps' face, Adler smiled widely. "The real Sam Phelps had a lot to say about you during our _discussion_."

"What did you do to him?" Phelps spat out, but when he started to stand, the thugs guarding him pushed him back into the chair. They added cuffs to Phelps' wrists, keeping him secured to the chair.

"You didn't think he died of that heart attack on his own did you? Once he gave up your name, I had no more use for him. So that brings the story back to you, Mr. James Bennett."

"If you think knowing my name is going to hold anything over me, you're mistaken. There's nothing in my past that will work against me."

Adler laughed and Neal felt his heart plummet. What little hope he had for his father caring about him was fading as the man talked.

"At first, I thought about tracking down your wife. Witness protection is a tricky beast to navigate, but not impossible if you have the right connections. Then I learned the key part of your past that I could use against you. Do you know what happened to your son, James?"

"If you didn't navigate Witness Protection, then it's unlikely that you know where he is."

"It's a shame that you didn't pay more attention when your wife took the deal for protection. Children within a certain age range don't qualify for protection. Of course your wife was told some nonsense about how he'd be placed in an orphanage, but that isn't really how it works. You see, the government makes a nice little profit off of selling the children they don't protect. It actually helps fund the ones they do protect, as well as lining a few pockets along the way."

"Sell?" Phelps questioned.

"Yes," Adler said as placed his hand in Neal's hair and forced his head back. "While your wife was given a new life as a single woman, your son, Neal, was sold to a slave center at three years old. Navigating the slave registry is a much easier pursuit. Of course, acquiring ownership of Neal wasn't as easy since his previous owners didn't like the idea of selling him. Although, after a week with him, I'm starting to see why they kept him."

"Neal? That's my son? A slave?"

"All grown up. Of course he's getting a little too old to be a good slave. I'll probably keep him for a bit before disposing of him. But what I really want to do is watch you as I take my enjoyment out of him. I want to hear him beg you to save him. I want you to watch as I take from you like you took from me."

Neal tried to lock eyes with the man to see if there was any compassion in his eyes, but he turned away. As soon as he did, Neal felt a slap land across his face.

"Watch James. Your son wants to put on a show for you so you'll see everything he's learned to be over the years."

Then Adler started. First, it was a flogger that thudded across his back and ass. Next came a cane that left trails of fire everywhere it struck him. Last was the whip. Neal wasn't even aware of himself at this point. He was just floating through the pain.

At some point, Kate had been ordered to suck him and he was horrified to find himself hard. It was the downside of his extensive training, something that even Peter and Elizabeth hadn't been able to break him of.

Neal was vaguely aware that things had stopped hitting his body and tried to focus on what Adler was staying.

"Before I fuck your boy, James, I want to make sure you'll always know that he belongs to me until I decide to put him down."

Neal's focus returned abruptly when he saw the glowing brand that Adler held in front of him. He couldn't breath as the man walked around him and for the first time since the ordeal had started, Neal found himself begging.

"No! Please don't let him! Dad!!!"

But his cries were to no avail as Neal felt the hot press of the brand against his ass. He cried out until he couldn't anymore. The last thing he remembered before passing out was the shouting from the doorway and someone yelling FBI.


	8. 08

Peter hated being relegated to the back of the strike team. The paperwork was still pending on him getting his gun back, but there was no way in hell that he wouldn't be there to get Neal. The lower floors of Adler's building had been secured and they had learned that the man was in a private meeting in his penthouse.

It took another thirty minutes to secure all the exit points, including the roof, and Peter felt that they didn't have a minute left to spare. Diana and Jones tried to calm him, but nothing was working at this point.

Finally, Diana led the way as the supporting agents busted the door down. He heard Diana order Adler to drop his weapon and when the man didn't she fired. But Peter cared nothing about what happened to him or the others in the room. He was focused solely on Neal's body where it hung in the center of the room from chains.

His hand was shaky as he reached out to check for Neal's pulse. He wasn't moving and his body was a mass of bruises, cuts and reddened welts. When he put his fingers to Neal's neck, he was elated to feel a strong pulse through the warm skin. As long as Neal was alive he would get him through whatever had happened.

Jones helped him undo the chains and get Neal lowered to the floor as they awaited the paramedics they had on standby outside the building. He cradled Neal's head in his lap and let his fingers card through the dark hair.

"Boss?" Diana's questioning voice made him look up.

"Yeah?" he asked, feeling so tired now that he had Neal with him.

"We found this on the floor. It was still hot."

Peter looked at the metal item, unable to comprehend at first what it was. The end that was still glowing with residual heat had a circle framing an overlapping V and A, the same stylized lettering that Adler used for his corporate logo. Peter felt like he had received a punch to the gut when his mind connected the pieces.

Gently, he rolled Neal's body, trying not jostle the injured man too much. His fears were confirmed when he saw the branded skin on his lover. Adler had marked Neal forever.

Then the paramedics arrived and Neal was moved to the stretcher. Peter followed, needing to be with Neal and trusting that Diana and Jones would handle everything. Peter thought that everything would be okay, but his next set of troubles began when they wheeled Neal through the doors of the hospital and the scanner registered his slave chip.

"Nobody said we had a slave," a nurse grumbled. "But should have figured it from the injuries. Get his data."

"He's mine," Peter found himself saying, but was halted at the door they had taken Neal through.

"Records indicate he belongs to a Vincent Adler. Do you have ID on you?"

"I'm Peter Burke with the FBI. Adler acquired Neal illegally and was able to modify the records. We haven't had a chance to sort the records out. Now let me see Neal!"

"I need to see your ID, Sir," the nurse demanded.

Peter reached for his badge and stopped. His badge wasn't there. It was with his gun, which was currently locked in Hughes' office. Red tape was keeping him from Neal and it was killing him.

"I don't have my badge with me," he admitted and watched as the nurse's face hardened.

"Then you have no say over his treatment. As it is, since he's a slave without an owner present, it's policy that he'll be transferred to a slave facility for determination of his viability."

"No!" Peter shouted, unable to hold back his panic. "Call the FBI headquarters and ask for Reese Hughes. He-"

"Is right here, Peter," Hughes finished in a brisk tone, flipping his badge open for the nurse. "And this belongs to you," he added, handing Peter his badge.

"The slave designated DC80-456 and also known as Neal was involved in an illegal transaction of ownership. Here is the documentation you need to confirm that Agent Burke and his wife are Neal's owners. Also, your database listing for him should be updated within the hour."

A mollified nurse led Peter and Hughes back to the room where they found Neal unattended and cuffed to a bed. In all the time that Neal had been with them, he'd rarely been sick and never enough to warrant a visit to the hospital. Seeing Neal in desperate need of medical attention and treated like trash made Peter wish Neal had agreed to being freed all those years ago. If he had, maybe this wouldn't have happened to his lover.

It didn't take long with both Peter and Hughes making demands for Neal to start receiving treatment. When they had him on his stomach, Peter blanched at the sight of the open wounds and the angry red brand mark. Neal was always proud of his body, even if him and El had taken years to convince him that they didn't love him because of it.

El joined him about thirty minutes later and Hughes left saying that he would be in touch later for Peter's statement and to follow up on Neal's condition. El's calming yet strong presence managed to go a long way in endearing the hospital staff to them and in turn to Neal. The doctors assured them that Neal would be fine physically save for the scarring and they provided the name of a plastic surgeon for a consult about those.

It was hours before they finally noticed Neal's eyes blink open. El tightened her grip on Neal's hand while Peter let his fingers keep petting through his hair.

"You're safe now, Neal," El said softly. "We've got you."

Peter was never more thankful in his life than when Neal's blue eyes latched on to his own. He watched as Neal's tongue darted out to wet his parched lips.

"Master? Mistress?" Neal's raspy voice questioned as he tilted his head to look at El.

"We're here," Peter confirmed, unable to control the break in his voice. It had been years since Neal had addressed them that way in private.

"Adler?"

"Dead. You can thank Diana later."

"My father?"

Peter's eyes widened and his hand stilled. "Who?"

"The man in the chair. Adler said he was my dad," and Neal started showing signs of agitation, like he wanted to get out of the bed.

"Don't worry about it, Neal. We'll figure it out. Just rest."

"But-" then Neal cut himself off as he twisted his body enough to irritate all the wounds. "I remember… It was burning. Did he-?"

Peter didn't have to say anything. His silence confirmed what Neal had remembered.

"It doesn't matter, Neal," El said. "There's a doctor that's going to check it out. But even with it there, we still love you. It doesn't change anything."

Neal didn't say anything and Peter just bent down and pressed a kiss to his forehead. El moved too and soon they were both balanced precariously on the edges of the bed with Neal sandwiched between them. They were never losing him again.


	9. 09

The next time Neal opened his eyes, he immediately shut them again. The bright lights hurt and with the thought of that hurt, the rest of his body made itself known. With each subtle shift on the bed, he recalled the pain that Adler had inflicted on his body. He remembered staring into the uncaring blue eyes of his supposed father.

Then Neal felt a hand squeeze his own and he let his eyes creak open. He was greeted with the sight of Peter and with a turn of his head, he saw Elizabeth on the other side of the bed. At first, he thought he was dreaming until Peter bent down and pressed a light kiss to his forehead. When Elizabeth did the same, he felt tears welling up in his eyes.

"You're safe," Peter was saying and Neal wanted to believe him. "We told you earlier, but I'll tell you again, Adler's dead and everyone else is in custody."

Neal blinked. He'd only been with the man for a week, but it felt like a lifetime had passed. Knowing that the man was dead loosened something within him and tears slipped down his cheeks.

"I couldn't stop them," he managed to say with an incredibly rough voice. The realization that it was his own screams that had ruined his voice made his heart clench.

"You survived and we have you now," Elizabeth said as her hand gently caressed his cheek.

Neal wanted to pull away from her touch as he no longer felt clean and worthy of their attention, but he couldn't bring himself to. Instead, he leaned into the touch and let his mind drift with the soothing strokes.

"Neal?" Peter's voice brought him back to reality and he wasn't sure how much time had passed. "You with us?"

"Yes, Master," Neal responded on instinct. As an after thought, he added, "Peter." What had taken the Burkes years to accomplish; Adler had destroyed within a week.

"Do you think you'll be able to give a statement to Hughes? They need to know if there is anything else to worry about now that Adler is dead. We don't know what his motive was for taking you."

Neal nodded. The sooner he could say it, the sooner he could forget it ever happened. But the knowledge that there were marks that would scar and the brand on his ass told him that he would never forget it for the rest of his life.

With Hughes in the room, Neal started with what happened when he was taken. When he got to the part of Adler's motives, he hesitated. Learning of his past had left him feeling lost and confused. Part of him had always wondered what would have happened to him had he been raised free with loving parents. The other part decided that being slave was worth it so that he had Peter and Elizabeth. With halting words, he relayed the tale of his father, the cop gone bad and a system that sold kids to line their pockets.

Peter had gone quiet, his face set in stone. Elizabeth just kept squeezing his hand and Hughes just wrote things down. When Neal was done, Peter stepped outside with Hughes while Elizabeth watched as his nurse gave him another sedative.

"We'll be here when you wake up, Sweetie," she said with a kiss to his lips and Neal let himself fade off again.

It was a week before the doctors allowed him to be released. But going home with Peter and Elizabeth brought a whole new set of worry to Neal. He loved them, but he felt that they shouldn't love him anymore. He wasn't the slave that had belonged to them for ten years.

But when Neal had tried to head for the guestroom instead of the bed he'd shared with them for years, Elizabeth quietly steered him into the room. Neal didn't protest as she helped him out his clothes and into bed. The healing marks on his backside made him lay on his front and he hated the thought of Elizabeth seeing the way Adler had ruined his body.

But instead of being repulsed by the sight, Neal felt her press her lips near the scarring marks. She worked her way along each line, telling him how much she loved him as she progressed. Then Peter joined them on the bed, effectively sandwiching Neal in between them. Together, they traced their fingers around the edges of the brand and then leaned down to kiss each side of it.

"We love you for you," Elizabeth said, causing tears to well up in his eyes. "Even when you get old, gray and lose those abs you're so proud of, we'll still love every inch of you."

Peter didn't talk at first, he just guided Neal's hand across his own body. Letting Neal feel the stomach that was just starting to get a little slack in the middle. He brought Neal's hand up to the wrinkles that had deepened the last few weeks across his face. Then he ended the journey with Neal's hand on the scar Peter had always carried from his college sports injury.

"We all have scars, Neal," he said softly. "They make us who we are."

Neal let his tears fall to the pillowcase as they wrapped their arms around him. Logically, he understood what they were saying, but he figured it would take time for him to really grasp what they meant.

It was a month before Neal thought of touching something with the intention of doing artwork. Each time he thought about the loft with his unfinished pieces, his chest would tighten. The danger had passed, but his instinct was telling him that it wasn’t safe to go back there. Instead, he'd asked Mozzie to bring him a sketchpad and some of his pastels. He usually worked with paint, so it would be something different.

He started with a pencil sketch and found himself drawing the outline of the brand that Adler had pressed to his ass. It was stylized V overlapping an A. Neal had seen the design all over the rooms that he had been kept him. In color, the logo had popped with a blood red V and a pitch black A. While his skin lacked the color, he could still see it every time he twisted his body in the mirror.

Once he had the lettering on the paper, Neal picked up a pastel with shaking hands and started applying color over the mark to disguise it. When he was done an hour later, you couldn't see a trace of the mark beneath the swirl of colors he had created. That's when the idea formed in his head and he started working in earnest with his sketchbook every day, searching for the perfect design.

Several days later, with Peter and Elizabeth wrapped around him in bed, he broached the subject.

"I would like to get a tattoo," he said softly. Peter looked at him sharply, while Elizabeth knowingly traced her hand over the brand.

"It wouldn't cover it completely," she said.

"But it wouldn't be his anymore either. I want- I need to make it my own."

"Anything you want," Peter said. "You work on a design and when the doctor says it's okay, you can get it."

Neal kissed them both. "Just don't ask me what I'm working on. I need to do this on my own."

They nodded and held him close as he drifted off to sleep, taking comfort in the warm embraces.


	10. 10

Peter hated leaving Neal behind, but El was at home and he would have to start letting go if he was ever going to return to work. His extended leave was coming to an end and Hughes had been calling more frequently to check-in. He and El had already talked things over and they were going to see how Neal felt about going to work with El for a while. They knew that all of the girls working for El would give Neal the space he needed, but they could also be good listening ears if he needed that.

The other option had been to get in touch with Mozzie and June and let Neal hang out at the studio space he used to love. So far, Neal hadn't mentioned returning to the place he had been taken from and they hadn't brought it up. Peter figured that it would be something Neal would have to initiate. Peter himself hadn't been back since that first day when he had arrived too late only to see Neal's paintings tossed around and Mozzie with a bloody cut on his forehead.

Peter shuddered, reassuring himself that Neal was home safe and belonged to him and El again. He'd never let anyone else take Neal from him. Ultimately, it was that feeling that was leading him to the prison that day. There was some unfinished business and he needed to know the truth.

When Neal had come around at the hospital, he had talked about his father being in the room. Peter and El had never questioned Neal much on his past, but they had learned that he had been a slave since he was three years old. Neal didn't remember why he ended up a slave, but they had all assumed it was because his parents had died or sold him.

After Neal had slipped back into a sleep, Peter and Hughes had called Diana to check in and let her know what Neal had said. Diana confirmed that a man had been cuffed to a chair and they were in the process of trying to ID him. He'd given the name Sam Phelps, but one of Adler's men called him James Bennett giving weight to Neal's story.

It was several days later that Diana came to Neal's room and told them the story of James Bennett was true and that the Marshals were taking him into custody.

The hardest part had been when Neal looked at Diana and asked, "Did he ask about me?"

Diana just shook her head and rested a hand on Neal's shoulder. "You've got enough good people around you that love you, Neal. You don't need him."

Peter wanted to agree with her, but at the same time he could see the hurt in Neal's eyes at the fact his own father didn't care about him. That's what led Peter to request the meeting he was about to have.

"Special Agent Burke," Peter said flashing his badge to the guard at the visitation desk. "Here to see James Bennett."

The guard checked his log and nodded. "They already have him in a room for you," he said as the door buzzed, letting Peter inside.

When he got to the room, Bennett was sitting in his chair with cuffed hands. The man looked up at Peter and smiled. The smile was nothing compared to the ones Neal used to carry all the time and Peter was sure he would carry again. The only similarity Peter could make out was the blue eyes. But where Neal's eyes were open and full of love and mischief, Bennett's were calculating and cold. Peter couldn't believe the man he loved came from this.

"So you're the one that owns my boy? Heard you have a wife too. Guess you like to keep your options open, huh?"

"You don't have the right to call Neal yours," Peter said flatly. "You left your wife and child to fend for themselves all because you got greedy."

"You know how it is. The bad guys were always getting one up on us. Isn't the saying, if you can't beat them, join them."

"My philosophy is, if you can't beat them, try harder. You left Neal twice in his life, first as a kid and then again while Adler was beating him to death. How could you not try to save him? How could you-" Peter stopped, his emotions were threatening to overwhelm him.

"If I'd done anything, Adler would have turned on me," Bennett said calmly. "Plus, the man had me cuffed to a chair."

"My agent told me that you had those cuffs slipped when they went to check on you. You could have stopped it. Could have saved him from being branded. So it was your life for your son's," Peter shook his head. He'd heard enough and he would be at any parole hearing to make sure he never had to hear any more.

As he was walking out, Bennett's voice stopped him. He didn't give the man the satisfaction of turning.

"You think I'm so bad, Agent Burke. Yet, you are the one who's kept my son enslaved for over ten years. What does that make you?"

"A man who listens to the needs of the person he loves," Peter said quietly. "We offered to free him nine years ago and Neal said no. I didn't understand his reason then, but I sure as hell do now."

"What was that?"

"He told me that if he was our slave, he knew we'd never leave him like his parents did."

Peter walked out the door and didn't look back. As much as he hated the man, Bennett helped contribute to make Neal the man that Peter loves. Now he just had to go home and show Neal all the love he'd given him for ten years and hope the next ten would be just as good.


	11. Epilogue

The day had been a long time coming, and Peter was doing his best to fight the nervousness he felt. He felt arms wrap around him from behind and leaned back into El's warm embrace.

"Hard to believe we finally got here," she said softly in his ear.

"I know," Peter agreed. "I never thought he would want it. The last year has changed him. I wish it had never happened, but a very small part of me feels that if it hadn't happened, we'd never get what we're about to get."

El held up a manila envelope, "Neal gave this to me this morning and told me to open it before we went in the room."

Peter watched as she pulled a sheet of sketchbook paper out of the envelope. Color covered the paper in elegant swirls that seemed to move with the shape of a body. Hidden within the colors was the brand that Neal wanted to change and make his own.

"It's beautiful," El whispered, her fingers tracing over the lines. "I can't wait to see it on him."

Peter just nodded, unable to speak. He'd tried his best not to show how much seeing the brand hurt, but he knew that Neal had noticed every change in his eyes when he saw the mark. Especially the first time Peter had taken him after the ordeal. But they had worked through it and now Neal was about to make multiple changes in their lives and they would work through each one as needed.

Peter finally looked up from the artwork when El's phone buzzed. With a quick glance at the message, she carefully tucked the drawing back into its envelope.

"Moz said they're here, so we should go inside. He didn't want to see us until he's in the room."

Peter nodded and took her hand as they entered the judge's chamber. The judge was already standing in front his desk and nodded for Peter and El to take their places to his right. A few moments later, the door opened again and Peter's breath caught.

Neal entered in one of his finest suits with June and Mozzie on either side of him. They led him to stand in front of the judge and then moved off to the left. Peter tried to catch Neal's eye, but he was staring straight ahead. Then the judge began to speak.

"We are gathered here to witness the emancipation of the slave designated as DC80-456. Paperwork from DC80-456's current owners Peter and Elizabeth Burke have been filed with this court requesting the release of DC80-456 from its sentence of slavery leveled on it July 31, 1980. Upon review, the Office of Slave Council and Rehabilitation has labeled DC80-456 an outstanding candidate for this consideration. It is the recommendation of this court that DC80-456 will hereby and forevermore be labeled as a free citizen of the United States of America and will have restored all rights granted a free citizen. The former slave has requested the name Neal George Caffrey be placed as his official name, renouncing all names prior to and during his slavery. Will Neal George Caffrey step forward?"

Peter swallowed hard as Neal approached the judge. This was the moment he'd been waiting for. The judge reached up to Neal's black collar and flipped the cover on the control panel. It took over a minute for him to enter several sequences of numbers and then a click echoed through the room. He pulled the collar away and set it on his desk.

"Congratulations on your freedom, Mr. Caffrey."

It was only then that Neal turned toward Peter and El. His eyes were shining brighter than Peter could ever remember. He wasn't sure who moved first, but suddenly they were in a three-way embrace.

"I love you both so much," Neal said hotly as he pressed a kiss on each of them. "Never told you because slaves aren't supposed to love. But I've loved you forever."

"We know," El said. "And we've loved you right back."

"And you're still ours," Peter added. "Always."


End file.
